


don't let me break this (let me hold it lightly)

by autumn_storms_and_coffee_rings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Doubt, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumn_storms_and_coffee_rings/pseuds/autumn_storms_and_coffee_rings
Summary: His voice is barely a whisper.  Tears quietly spill onto his cheeks.  He aches.“Tony,” Steve tentatively reaches out, but Tony shakes his head.  He has to get through this before the walls go back up.“Everything is too, um...heavy?  Does that make sense?  I mean, I can manage it.  Most of the time.  Sometimes. But tonight, it’s - I can’t do it.  I can’t carry the weight anymore.  But it’s mine to carry.  And I deserve it.  And there is nowhere to set it down, anyway.”It’s one thing to know he’s wrecked, to know he’s been lost to the weight.  It’s another to say it out loud.  Verbalizing it makes it real.  And to make it real to the man he loves, the man who epitomizes good - the one thing Tony knows he will never be and will never deserve to have.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 32
Kudos: 209





	don't let me break this (let me hold it lightly)

The smell of coffee fills the communal kitchen at an hour wholly inappropriate for such things.

Tony sighs, his breath sending the lingering wisps of steam from his mug upward to twist in the moonlight.

It was shaping up to be a sleepless night. 

To add insult to injury, Tony ran out of coffee in his penthouse kitchen, forcing him to leave his sanctuary and run the risk of meeting other insomniac Avengers. 

He meant to ask JARVIS to place an order - or six - for coffee, but it kept slipping his mind. He huffs, berating himself for the oversight. He can single-handedly revolutionize green technology, but he fails to do basic things like order coffee. And eat regularly. And sleep regularly. Simple tasks. So simple, even Barton can accomplish them. Yet he finds himself incapable, unable.

Because he’s a genius, right? He has more important things to think about - ideas and thoughts tumbling and tangling into knots that demand to be unraveled immediately. The little things fall through the cracks, right?

No, he sighs again. Simple things fall through the cracks because of the weight.

And adding one more thing to his endless to-do list adds one more crack in the foundation of the dam. The walls are threatening to collapse. 

Heavy.

Everything feels  _ heavy _ .

He can’t shake off the weight. 

Most days the weight is manageable. The weight of the arc reactor suspended uncomfortably in his chest. The weight of the armor. The weight of the anxiety. The weight of his mistakes. The weight of feeling unlovable. The weight of not letting down Pepper with his SI responsibilities (and to be honest, failing her would mean almost certain death because she’s really, truly terrifying). The weight of designing and building new equipment to protect his teammates. The weight of keeping the world safe. 

It is a dull ache that settles on his shoulders and in his heart, but it feels familiar. Sure, it is an annoying, constant presence, but it often fades to background noise. He can work through it and he can work with it and he can work despite it. And he deserves the weight. 

But tonight? The weight was wrapping its hands around his throat. He struggles to breathe. Well, more so than usual thanks to the hunk of metal pressing against his rib cage and lungs every second of every day.

Tonight, he feels every fracture and every fault-line running through his heart and mind. Tonight, he feels broken. 

He takes another sip of coffee, silently hoping it would hold the emotions at bay. He’d felt the storm brewing all day. Really all week, for that matter. 

The weight consumed everything. 

Keep busy. Keep building. Maybe someday it will be enough. Maybe someday his slate will be washed clean. 

Tony watches the lights of the city dance in the early morning hours. Maybe, just maybe, he could talk to someone? The intrusive thought makes him snort, and he dismisses it promptly. He never shuts up. But when it comes to this? Nope. He’d rather fly another nuke into space. 

It’s not that he has anything against talking about his feelings. Contrary to popular belief, he could do the touchy-feely stuff. But he’d been burned enough to know that pulling away the masks and knocking down the walls he had so carefully constructed usually ended in heartbreak. When he tried talking with Pepper or Bruce on separate occasions, the lesson was reinforced. The former eventually ended their relationship (he understood now that it was for the best - he is, um, recklessly infatuated with someone else and she deserves someone present) and the latter fell asleep (which hurt, if he was truthful). 

And both of them wanted to  _ fix _ it. Tony just wants someone to  _ listen _ . 

And despite his vast wealth, he has no desire to pay someone to listen. That concept is mildly insulting. He has friends who would listen, right? Maybe. Probably. Probably not. Anyway, the counselor who drew the short straw and was stuck with him would likely run to the media as soon as possible to broadcast his weaknesses to the world. 

The Pepper in his head scolds him for his word choice. Okay, fine, whatever. Not weaknesses. His anxiety and depression. And probably a dash of PTSD.

But still. Maybe if he said these things out loud, he’d feel a little less crazy. And maybe a little less alone. 

But he is alone.

And it is heavy. 

Just get another cup of coffee. Just go over the new designs for the Quinjet. Just build one more thing for SI. Just work on the upgrades for Steve’s new suit. 

Steve. Maybe he could talk with Steve? After their rough start, they had grown closer. Steve would sink into the ratty workshop couch to draw and play fetch with DUM-E while Tony worked on a million projects at once. When he became so engrossed in a project that he lost track of time, food would magically appear. Or coffee. Or water (ugh). Putting two and two together (he was a genius, after all), he realized Steve was making sure he stayed alive. One day, he walked into the workshop to see a framed charcoal sketch of the two of them playing with DUM-E. His heart fluttered. After running a myriad of tests to ensure that the flutter wasn’t heart palpitations, he reached the conclusion that he was screwed. 

His love for Steve grew like a weed, roots spreading fast and deep, difficult to stamp out. Shit. Are weeds romantic? Whatever. He should talk with Steve. Ehhhh. Nope. Not going there. 

The pressure began to build behind his eyes. He refuses to allow the dam to break. 

Crying might be a relief in the moment, but it would solve nothing. He could not waste time feeling sorry for himself. Others have it worse. He deserves the weight. 

He shudders, trying in vain to pull a full breath into his lungs, which protest every step of the way. 

He becomes dimly aware that his hands are shaking. They do that more often than he’d like to admit, so instead he chooses to ignore it, using it to draw his attention to the fact that his mug is empty. 

Then, with no warning, the dam starts to leak. Just as he is talking himself into getting up from his stool for more coffee, his body finally betrays him. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye and rolls down his cheek. 

“Tony?”

Tony freezes. 

Fuck. 

Steve. 

Nope.

_ Anyone _ but Steve. 

Tony scrambles off his stool and bolts towards the coffee maker, hoping he’d imagined hearing the thinly veiled concern that tinged Steve’s voice, hoping that the darkened kitchen obscures the wetness on his cheeks from  _ freaking tears _ . 

How had he missed those footsteps? (And no, he did  _ not _ have that sound memorized, thank you very much.) 

So self-absorbed, wallowing in self-pity for no goddamn reason. Shit. 

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you! I’m kinda surprised to see you in the communal kit- Tony, are you okay?”

Shit.

“Fine, Cap. Just pea-”

Shit. Steve had noticed. Great. Just great. 

Shaking hands reach out blindly to place the mug on the counter. 

He misses. 

Tony watches, horrified, as the mug tumbles, shattering on the floor.

His face crumples. 

And the dam bursts. 

Tony sinks slowly to the floor, trembling uncontrollably, traitorous tears spilling from his eyes.

“Tony!”

Steve rushes over, closing the distance between them in three easy steps. 

He kneels down and reaches out a hand to lay on Tony’s shoulder, but the trembling man jerks back violently.

“Tony, what-,”

At that moment, his renowned brilliance fails him, and he mumbles, “It broke.”

Steve stares at him, not comprehending why a billionaire would cry over a broken mug. “Uh, it did, yeah.” 

Annoyed - because Steve was just.  _ not _ . getting. it and he needed to get it - Tony chokes out between sobs, “No.  _ I _ broke it.”

Steve blinks, nods once, and sits down next to Tony. 

It’s hardly a comfortable position, sitting on a cold floor and leaning against unforgiving wooden cabinets, but he needs to be here. For once, Steve is grateful for his periodic bouts of nightmare-fueled insomnia. He can be here for Tony, even though Steve knows Tony will retreat behind his walls come morning. Being close to him, being here for him, anchoring him - this is enough. Even if Steve knows it won’t last. 

“Um, I’ll go to Target when it opens and buy you a new one.”

“Noooooo! No, Steve, it...it’s not that.” Tony sighs, willing himself to gain even an ounce of composure. His knees pull up under his chin in a subconscious effort to hide, to make himself smaller. This was the cherry on top of a fantastic evening. Sniffling and sobbing in front of Steve. 

Logically, he knows Steve is concerned. He knows Steve would comfort him without asking anything in return. He knows Steve won’t think less of him, won’t think him weak. But his upbringing ingrained in him that revealing any emotion is weakness. Weaknesses are exploited. Weaknesses create vulnerability.

But he craves comfort and he craves someone to _ listen _ . If that makes him weak, then so be it. The dam has already burst and the water is rushing out. Might as well let the words flow out too. 

“I...I break things, Steve.” 

Tony cannot contain the shudder that rolls through his body. He hazards a furtive glance at Steve. Gentle, cerulean eyes stare back at him. Steve’s face is open and patient, lit by the moonlight leaking in through the kitchen window and the soft, blue glow of the reactor.

He runs a hand through his messy mop of brown hair, trying to find the words. 

“Okay. So...I’m a mechanic, right? An engineer? I’m supposed to...I’m supposed to build things. By definition. God, it’s like some kinda cruel joke,” he huffs out a hollow laugh. “Instead of creating, I...I destroy. Everything I touch just...breaks. Everyone, everything I care about - I ruin. Innocent lives. Villages in Afghanistan. Friendships. Relationships. This team. Anything remotely delicate gets crushed in my eagerness to lessen the weight. I know that it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I do try. I want to make amends. I want to be  _ good _ .” 

His voice is barely a whisper. Tears quietly spill onto his cheeks. He  _ aches _ . 

“Tony,” Steve tentatively reaches out, but Tony shakes his head. He has to get through this before the walls go back up. 

“Everything is too, um...heavy? Does that make sense? I mean, I can manage it. Most of the time. Sometimes. But tonight, it’s - I can’t do it. I can’t carry the weight anymore. But it’s mine to carry. And I deserve it. And there is nowhere to set it down, anyway.” 

It’s one thing to know he’s wrecked, to know he’s been lost to the weight. It’s another to say it out loud. Verbalizing it makes it real. And to make it real to the man he loves, the man who epitomizes  _ good _ \- the one thing Tony knows he will never be and will never deserve to have. 

It is too much. 

Steve remains silent while Tony speaks, fingers twitching from a longing to reach out and hold him. 

No one should carry this much. Especially when not all of it is theirs to carry. 

Steve wonders how he failed to see the fractures in Tony before. Tony is a constant in his life in this brave new world. Yet the walls he builds are so high and so many. 

He knows Tony. He knows his story. And he loves him despite of it and because of it. 

Tony’s dogged determination to alter the course of his life is one of many reasons Steve loves him. And no matter how much he has tried to bury his feelings for the sake of the unity and comfort of the team (what if this implodes in his face?), Tony deserves to know. Especially now. Especially when he needs light. 

Steve, favoring actions over words as always, makes his decision. He needs to be able to see Tony’s face, and sitting side by side on the cold, hard floor just won’t cut it. 

And to Tony’s absolute horror, Steve starts to get up. 

Great. Yep. Could’ve seen that coming.  _ When will you learn your lesson, Stark?  _ Breaking down walls ends in heartbreak. 

Tony tries to feign nonchalance. With monumental effort, he plasters a dazzling (if somewhat strained) smile on his face as he jumps up off the floor, “Anyway, that’s enough word vomit for one day. Thanks, Cap. Let’s never mention this again. Please don’t kick me off the team. God, of all people to spill to…” Tony trails off, shaking his head. 

“Do you distrust me that much? I thought we were past that, Tony.”

“NO! No, that’s not what I -,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, okay, I...I care about you. More than I should.”

Steve freezes. “Wh-What?”

“Fuck it,” Tony runs a hand over his face and sighs. “This is not how I wanted you to find out. Hell, I didn't want you to find out all all, but - I am in love with you. I love you. Shit. I’m sorry. Look, I’ve tried very hard to  _ not _ love you but I’m finding it very difficult to, um…Shit.” 

“I - I didn’t want you to see me like this. The man behind the suit is, uh, decidedly a mess. Jury’s not out about that. I’m...fragile. A ball of anxiety. Selfish. Steve, you embody  _ good _ . You - you’re brilliant. And funny - God, the way you play with the bots...You’re steadfast. And patient.  _ Kind _ . I see in you the man I want to be, but doubt I will ever be. And I love you. I’m sorry.”

Tony feels an overwhelming urge to bolt. Lock himself in the workshop where he can’t interact with people. It would be for the best. Maybe Steve will just chalk this conversation up to fatigue? Just as Tony weighs the odds of beating a super-soldier to the elevator, Steve moves closer. Okay. That is unexpected. Should he brace for a punch? No. Weird. And Steve is looking at him with...it’s a look Tony can’t quite place. Tony feels dizzy, fixed to the spot by an overwhelming mix of fear and hope. 

“Tony. Please. Please don’t apologize; you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

Steve fixes Tony with those eyes, rooting him to the spot. 

“I know you, Tony. I know which smile you reserve for the press and which smile you reserve for your friends. I know I never see the latter as much as I’d like. I know which eyebrow quirk is to provoke and which eyebrow quirk is to tease. I know which masks you use and why you use them. I know that many of them break my heart, and I know that I wish I could go back in time and stop the hurt that created them. I know that I adore the Tony I see when you let your masks slip, when you break down your walls. And yes, that includes the Tony in front of me now. I know you are afraid and hurting, and I know that you will never let that stop you from doing the right thing. And I know that you already are good.” 

Tony’s eyes well up with tears again. How many times is his body going to betray him tonight? Damn it.

What Steve is saying cannot possibly be true. Tony has the red in his ledger to prove it (he needs to thank Nat for that metaphor; it’s quite apt). But Steve...Steve would never lie. Steve would never manipulate or deceive for ulterior motives. Would he? He wouldn’t, right? No. No, of course not. 

Steve lets the silence hang between them, taking the time to dredge up a little more courage. He closes the gap between them, breathing in the smell of coffee, grease, and something else. Something innately and delightfully  _ Tony _ .

Steve slowly, gently raises his hands to cup Tony’s face. Tony shivers at the touch.

“And I want to show you the man that I know, if you’ll let me. I love you, Tony.” He gives Tony a tiny, shy grin. 

Oh. Well, that was...that was unexpected. Time to make a decision. He could be selfish. He could have who he wants. But is love selfish when it feels this light? Can he make sure that he gives as much as he takes? Yes. Yes, he can. 

Tony gives a curt nod

“Okay. I...Steve, I love you,” Tony breathes.

Steve leans forward slowly, giving Tony time to retreat. 

Their lips meet. Steve grins into the kiss, relishing the way Tony’s beard tickles his face. Tony gasps, the kiss like a balm to every fracture and every fault-line. Steve kisses with everything he is - every ounce of good imbued with a little bit of the promise of the passion to come. He kisses like the answer to every question Tony has ever and will ever ask. 

He knows now that the look from earlier was fondness. 

Tony breaks away to look at Steve. 

And the peace shatters and his brain kicks back in.

Doubt. Apprehension. Worry. Weight.

He strains, trying to break away from Steve’s embrace, but it’s useless. That super-soldier grip is something else. 

“Steve. I - No. I can’t. I can’t do this unless you mean it. You can’t - you don’t want this, Steve. You deserve so much more. I understand that it’s natural to want to comfort someone who is hurting, but -”

“Tony. Please don’t do that to yourself. Do you trust me?”

Without hesitation, Tony responds, “Yes.”

“Do you have any reason to doubt my intentions?”

“I - No. Not _ your _ intentions, no,” Tony pauses. “There...There’s a lot of baggage here, Cap. Are you sure you wanna be around while I work on unpacking it?”

“Yes. If you’ll let me. If you’ll have me. Yes.”

Tony nods and reaches up to plant a gentle kiss on Steve’s lips. 

And then his mouth opens of its own accord again, “But - Never mind.”

Steve looks at Tony, his brow furrowing a bit, “Hmmm? Please, Tony. Tell me.”

“But why did you stand up? I, uh, I thought you were leaving. I mean, that was a lot, um. I’m a lot.” 

Steve smiles. “And I want all of you. All that you’ll give me. Sitting on the floor is a bit much for my old bones, Tony. I needed to stand. I needed to see you. So, um. Do you plan on spending the night in the kitchen? Because - Do you - Uh,” a blush dusts Steve’s cheeks. “Would you spend the night with me? Now that I have you, I don’t really wanna let you go. I - I want to hold you tonight. Is that okay?” 

“Is that an innuendo? Pleaaaaaase let that be a innuendo because I -”

“TONY,” Steve flushes an interesting scarlet. He tries to regather his train of thought, “You have been awake for, what, thirty-two hours?”

JARVIS, the little shit, responds without prompting, “That is correct, Captain Rogers.”

Steve beams at the ceiling. Tony glares. Betrayed by his own AI. Great.

“Tony, you need rest. You’ve been carrying so much. So tonight?  _ Sleep _ . But, um, other things could be arranged in the near future,” Steve smirks. He is decidedly _ not _ the picture of innocence depicted by decades of propaganda. Tony is okay with this. 

“How soon in the near future?”

“You are incorrigible. And you haven’t given me an answer. Will you stay?” Steve takes Tony’s hand in his. 

“I - Yes. Of course.”

“Let me help carry the weight.”

Tony squeezes his hand in response.  _ Yes _ .

Hope. Certainty. Trust. Light. 

To his surprise and glee, Steve lifts Tony into his arms with ease and heads towards the elevator. The mug shards are forgotten - a minor inconvenience to clean tomorrow. 

Looking at Steve, Tony feels the weight lift for the first time in recent memory. He wonders if this is what it’s like to breathe again without the weight, without the ache. He knows the morning will bring questions, but he knows they will find the answers together. He knows the weight will return, but he knows he has help to carry it. Tony leans his head against Steve’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this is my first fanfiction. for any fandom. and first attempt at writing dialogue. yay? yay. 
> 
> the title is from "100 years" by florence + the machine. 
> 
> i started reading fanfiction to heal from the abomination that was e*dgame. and to live in a state of denial. it's nice here. 
> 
> oddly, i did not initially ship stevetony, and now i cannot imagine *not*. 
> 
> i have been inspired by so many authors here: ohjustpeachy, LunaStories, rosycheeked, itsallAvengers, nanasekei starkravingcap, romanoff - just to name a few. thank you. 
> 
> feedback is welcome :)


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